Dark Souls: Sunset
by eaglescorch
Summary: In the past, the Four Knights attempt to unravel a mystery as the gods fight amongst themselves. In the present, Solaire of Astora seeks to gather what little friends and allies remain to tear the Dark Lord from his throne and end his rampage. As both face destiny, they realize there is more at work then they first thought, and a forgotten enemy lurks just out of sight.
1. Forever Defiant

Okay, so my initial story managed to gather some positive response, more then I was expecting. I got a few nice PM's and reviews, so I figured I'd do a longer story along the lines of a similar setting. It does not pick up from the Fall, in fact it has nothing to do with it, but it does still take place after the Dark Lord Ending of Dark Souls I. Hope it satisfies.

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Dark Souls: Sunset

Chapter 1

Forever Defiant

_Anor Londo - Centuries Ago_

Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, marched down the halls of a decrepit lost tunnel beneath Anor Londo. He and his elite knights had swords unsheathed and shield raised. They knew that whatever they found at the end of this tunnel would lead to battle.

_How could I have been so blind?_ Gwyn thought. _I never should have trusted that wretch._

His anger was apparent in the way he presented himself. He didn't take time to façade as a kindly old man far past his time as he did with the humans. No, he chose to act like a god. His blade burned with a fire of such intensity that it practically matched the Light Soul in his body. Even his knights were uneasy around Gwyn when he was like this because it meant that his reason may waiver in favor of a more violent approach to matters. Things had been going badly the last year, with the rising dominance of mankind and the growing distrust among the gods. Velka had just recently been exiled by Seeth the Scaleless, whose experiments at the regal archives were said to be so grotesque and abhorrent they could drive men mad with a single glance. Even with all that, Gwyn's role as king of the gods allowed him to maintain a semblance of order, but now even that was threatened. Threatened by a single man.

The Lord of Sunlight and his knights came to rest at a small wooden door at the end of the tunnel. It was creaky, old, with no windows or anyway to see in.

"Allow me sir." Said Lord's Blade Ciaran. The masterful assassin stood forward and assessed the door for any possible traps. Of course, she found none, the man on the other side lacked any need for them. When she tried to open the door, she found it was locked with a mechanism on the other side.

Artorias stepped forward and knocked, causing Hawkeye Gough to raise his bow in suspense and for Dragonslayer Ornstein to ready his spear. Artorias knocked again, expecting a reply, when his faithful wolf Sif growling at the door.

"There's definitely someone in there, my lord." Said Artorias. "Sif's nose is never wrong." He pet the young wolf on the head and got a grateful bark in response.

"Then our information was correct." Confirmed Ornstein. "Heh. You'd think he'd be smart enough to leave before we found him."

"Maybe he didn't leave because he knew their was nowhere left to go." Suggested Gough.

"Enough!" Gwyn exclaimed, silencing his knights. With a kick from his mighty boot, the door was shattered into wooden splinters on the floor. The Lord of Sunlight and his knights filed in.

The door, as it turned out, lead to a small room made of poorly chiseled cobblestone that was adorned with moss. There was a single torch illuminating the room, hanging a few inches above a small desk, where a hooded figure was hunched over. His bony hands were busy tailoring threads on a small piece of cloth and he didn't seem too interested in Gwyn's sudden entrance.

"This deranged game ends now." Declared Gwyn, eyes locked on the man in the hood.

The man stopped tailoring for a moment, then continued without hesitation. "Ah, Gwyn. Champion of Subtlety as always I see. A cold, calculating, and quite malicious voice was what gave the response to Gwyn. I do not see what I have done to earn this intrusion. Everything here is... Eh... Well, it's not harmful to you at any rate."

The knights all formed a wall behind Gwyn, each had weapons raised. Gwyn walked forward, spun the man around, and unmasked the hooded hunchback. His face was frail, his body was ancient, and his face was wrinkled with not a speck of hair. He had bulging eyes, a bigger then average nose, a round head, and an extremely short height. Their eyes met, one filled with solemn duty and the other filled with insane menace.

"I am truly sorry it has come to this, Furtive Pygmy, but what you've done is inexcusable."

"Hah!" Went the Pygmy. "You are such a terrible liar, Gwyn! You didn't feel sorry when you locked your friend Havel away, why would you care about me?"

Gwyn's sadness quickly evaporated, revealing it as nothing more then another façade. For the Lord of Sunlight, he was probably one of the more morally dubious members of the gods of Anor Londo. That was including Velka, whose domain was literally sin.

"Then I shall not be delicate anymore, Pygmy. I'll offer you a choice: Give me the Dark Soul and rot in a cell for eternity or I will take the soul and your life."

The Furtive Pygmy smiled madly. "No." He said simply.

"It's not a request." Gwyn threatened, his voice housing a sharp edge.

"I know." The Pygmy replied, reaching for something unseen behind him. "I just don't care." It was at this point he pulled the item he had been tailoring from behind his back and raised it in the air. Gwyn and his knights realized a moment too late that it was a talisman. "Wrath of the Abyss!" He called aloud. There was a sudden gathering of purple light around his body, then it exploded with ferocious force. The Knights were knocked out by the explosion, but Gwyn withstood the blast. The Furtive Pygmy, whose power was underestimated by the brave knights, was now free of his cumbersome robes and his true ferocity was revealed. He conjured dark magic in his hands, one of the few powers that could seriously damage Gwyn. He fired a barrage of Pursuers in his direction, which Gwyn could only attempt to deflect. He used his own powers to create a shield of lightning on his arm, which blocked a few of the Pursuers, but the others got through and did some damage. Not enough to give the Lord of Sunlight much trouble though.

The Furtive Pygmy knew this, so he took advantage of his first attack. He leaped from the floor like a panther prowling on prey and landed on Gwyn's back. He dragged is bony fingers into Gwyn's head, causing blood to pour from the giant's head and onto the Furtive Pygmy's hands. He continued to scratch and tear at Gwyn's flesh, but eventually the Lord of Sunlight was able to reach over his shoulders and throw the pygmy to the ground. Gwyn drew his sword while the Pygmy unsheathed two small daggers, which he used to block the first strike by Gwyn's burning blade. The fires licked the Pygmy's hands like wolves getting ready to tear apart their pray, but all he did was laugh. Gwyn broke away and prepared for another strike, while the Pygmy tossed one of his razor sharp knives into Gwyn's chest, still burning from the flames of the sword. Gwyn pulled it out with ease and crushed it in hand.

"You haven't changed a bit since those days in the below." The Furtive Pygmy taunted. "How's it feel to know that this is a losing battle?"

"I don't see how I'm losing, Pygmy." Gwyn replied, reading another strike. That statement seemed to surprise the Pygmy, before he burst into laughter and his smile was wider then ever.

"You don't know?! HAHAHAHAHA! That's fantastic! HAHAHAHA! Oh... that's great." He wiped tears from his frail face before bursting into laughter again. So great was this laughter, the Pygmy couldn't pay attention to Gwyn, who was charging. He only realized what was happening when the blade was lodged in his chest and blood was splattered onto the back wall. He moaned momentarily before the blade was removed and he fell to the floor. By this time the Knights were recovering, but all they saw was their lord clutching the dying Pygmy in his hands.

What did you mean? What battle have I lost?" He received no answer, so he shook his former friend viciously. "Speak Pygmy! I won't let you die until you answer me!"

"You came here... You came here for the Dark Soul right?" He asked.

"Where did you hide it? What did you do with it?!" The Lord of Sunlight raged.

"Heh. Came the reply. "I didn't hide it... I... I spread it..."

"What?" Gwyn demanded, tightening his grip.

"The Dark Souls is all around you, Gwyn... It's in every human... It IS every human. You've lost Lord of Sunlight, the Dark has arrived." He took more deep breathes as he continued to fade. "Tell me something before I go..." He asked a speechless Gwyn. Did you... did you..."

"Did I what, pygmy?"

"Did you ever know my real name?" The lack of an answer was all he needed. "Heh... I didn't think so..." He took a last breath, then passed on with a brief sigh of relief.

Artorias walked over to Gwyn while Gough slung the body over his massive shoulder.

"We should bury him." Said Artorias. "After all, the world should remember who he was, not what he became."

Gwyn's eyes swiveled towards Artorias. "Fine... Bury the traitor, but bury him at the deepest place you can think of. As far away as Izalith if necessary. The Witch can have him, I don't so much as want his scent anywhere near my palace." With those words, Gwyn stormed out, as angry in defeat as he would have been in victory. Artorias and Gough exchanged glances while Sif whimpered as he gazed at the body of the Furtive Pygmy. Ornstein and Ciaran went after Gwyn to make sure he didn't do anything else rash, leaving the task of burying the body up to a tamer of wolves and a blind giant.

"So what do we do?" Asked Gough.

Artorias thought about it for a second, then came up with a solution. "Follow me." He told Gough as they exited the tomb together.

* * *

"Here, this spot will do." Declared Artorias as he pointed at a small patch of silt and dirt. They were far underground, deep in the basin of a great river, near the town of Oolacile and the Royal Wood. The spot that would eventually become Darkroot Garden and Darkroot Basin.

"This place?" Gough asked. "I can't even see and I can tell it's not exactly... ceremonial."

"Well, it's not supposed to be ceremonial, but it's better then what Lord Gwyn had in mind." Artorias countered, gazing around at the leaky caverns where water dripped down from stalactites. "Start digging Sif." He said, pointing at the spot. Sif obeyed his master's command and quickly dug a shallow hole in the floor. The body was placed inside the hole with ease and Artorias made sure the dirt clung to the Furtive Pygmy's body like a blanket. Then he covered it over with rocks and then looked at Hawkeye.

"Have any black firebombs on you?" He asked. Hawkeye tossed a satchel towards Artorias, who caught it mid-air. He pulled three black firebombs out of the satchel and tossed them at the grave. The fires, burning at a temperature far above anything nearby, melted the rocks together and fused the stones into a single slab above the grave. It looked like a standard rock formation now, nothing else.

"There, no one will ever know the difference." Artorias declared.

"No one will ever look here either. Gough added. 'I see why you put it here, but still..."

"I know, he deserved better." Artorias finished.

"He- Yes." Hawkeye was surprised to find he and Artorias were on the same page. "Do you think..."

"That our fearless Lord of Sunlight is starting to loose his grip on sanity? Definitely. Ever since he buried Havel alive in that tower, Gwyn's been getting more and more... Unstable. I don't think it's anything we should be worried about, not right now at least." Artorias did seem unnerved which relieved Hawkeye Gough, who was worried that only he, the blind giant, was seeing Gwyn's descent.

"What happens if he goes too far? What do we do then?" Gough asked, hoping they were still on the same page, which thankfully they were.

"We get Ciaran and Ornstein to see it, then we take him off his throne." Artorias's voice was defiant and adamant, marking that as his final decision on the matter.

Hawkeye nodded and Sif gave an affirmative bark to signal the young wolf was with him. Before they left the unmarked grave of the Furtive Pygmy, Hawkeye decided to adorn the grave with something that would at least let the spirit of the Pygmy know he had not been forgotten. He sprinkled a pinch of resin over the grave before placing a small carving on it. It was carved into the shape of a spade and simply read one word: Farewell. The knights then finally decided to walk away from the grave and return to Anor Londo. They didn't turn back, but had they so much as glanced back in the direction of the grave, they would have seen a black sprite seeping from the walls and encroaching on the grave. It released slick black tendrils upon the stones, slowly but surely engulfing it in the dark.

"Ah... So you've come at last..." Came a bellowing voice, not nearly the same as the one the Pygmy spoke with. This one was deep and echoed across the caves ominously, yet the source could not be identified.

"Come to me. Join me and watch, Furtive Pygmy... Watch the shadows grow, watch them smother the flames... Truly beautiful is it not? I'm glad you think so... What's that? Who am I? My name... My name is Manus... It is a pleasure to meet you...

* * *

Kiln of the First Flame - _Five years ago_

Darkstalker Kaathe hung from the ceiling of the Firelink Altar, where he looked almost bored. Of course, anyone who knew Kaathe knew that he was actually simply anxious for what came next. The shadows were growing, after all, the Age of Dark had almost arrived.

There was a strange disturbance in the Lordvessel. A sort of stirring effect inside the fire. Embers and cinders started to flush out of the pan and onto the ground next to it and the bodies of two young undead appeared. One was dressed in Elite Knight Armor that was heavily reinforced and was holding an Occult Bastard Sword, the other wearing Iron Armor with the Warriors of Sunlight Insignia branded onto it. He held a Sunlight Straight Sword.

"So I take it your mission was not a success?" Asked Kaathe to the two newly resurrected undead.

The one in Iron Armor, Knight Solaire of Astora, was the first to speak after briefly sacrificing a humanity sprite at the Lordvessel to reverse his hollowing. "No it wasn't. Not even close." Said the kind knight, brushing off his armor of any remaining ash.

The other, who performed the same process Solaire had to reclaim his humanity, turned to look at Kaathe. "You'd think a dying god would grow a little less powerful sitting in a tomb for a thousand years, but no. Gwyn hasn't mellowed in the slightest." Said the other man. His name was Typhon, he was the Chosen Undead of legend or so Kingseeker Frampt would have him believe. Kaathe had shown him otherwise.

"Ah. I see." The Serpent replied to their story. "I assume you'll give it another try soon? Our window of opportunity is closing, gentlemen, we must kill Gwyn soon."

"We know." Said the two knights in unison.

Kaathe frowned. "Ignorant fools." He muttered, not nearly quiet enough for them not to have heard it.

This annoyed the Chosen Undead, but not enough that he wouldn't be reasonable with the giant snake. "Listen, we're not ready to take him on just yet, Kaathe. Said Typhon. "Let me get some more titanite and upgrade my equipment, while Solaire..." He turned to look at the Knight, who stared at him for a second waiting for a response. He paused for thought, then continued. "Solaire you do whatever it is you do whenever you're not with me, then we'll meet back here in a little while."

"Sounds like a plan old friend." Said the knight. "I'll be in Sunlight Altar. I require some meditation. Farewell!" He said, before using the Lordvessel to teleport away. This left only Kaathe and Typhon in the Firelink Altar, gazing at the spot where Solaire used to be.

"That Warrior of Sunlight is going to be a problem." Deduced Kaathe as he turned to look at Typhon.

"I don't care. He's my friend, I won't betray him." Typhon replied, adamantly.

"You're going to have to. If you are to usher in the Age of Dark, the First Flame will have to die. I have no doubt that the good Knight Solaire will try to prevent that at all costs." Kaathe's voice had a particular disdain in it whenever he spoke of Solaire. He didn't like the Warrior of Sunlight and his plans had no room for him. Yet Typhon maintained he wouldn't have gotten this far without him and that he deserved to be there when they took down Gwyn. For that reason and that reason alone, he let the matter slide for the time being, but he knew that one day a decision would have to be made on Solaire's fate. Personally, he hoped Typhon would see reason, and put the knight down.

"I'll burn that bridge when I come to it." Declared the Chosen Undead before walking back towards the Lordvessel. "We'll settle this matter another time, I have to go. The Chaos Servants are expecting me."

Kaathe's face turned from a scowl to a witty smile. "Still helping that old witch then?" He asked rhetorically.

Typhon looked back at the serpent. "I killed her sister in cold blood. I'm obliged to make up for my mistakes." He replied. Whenever he talked about the Fair Lady, as she was known to the Chaos Servants, he spoke with a voice so riddled with a mix of nobility, guilt, and sentiment that it made Kaathe sick.

"Fine. Give my regards to the Fair Lady." He declared sarcastically. "I wouldn't want to see her suffer, after all."

Typhon clinched his teeth. I'm sure she'd appreciate the sentiment, Kaathe. He wanted to hit the Primordial Serpent across the face, but that would probably only result in a sore fist. Instead he wandered over to the Lordvessel and warped away as well, leaving Kaathe alone for the time being.

"He's a damned fool." He muttered to himself, before retreating back into the Abyss, where he quietly began to smile. "Then again, I should expect nothing less of the Dark Lord."

* * *

Painted World of Ariamis - _Now_

A hooded figure navigated the confounding and unnerving pathways of the Painted World of Ariamis. He did not want to find himself here, not in a million years, but due to recent events, he found himself desperately searching for help. This was one of the only places untouched by the Dark. In it, he would find Priscilla the Crossbreed and hopefully find answers on how to save his dying home.

He carried only a lantern and a small chaos-infused dagger he had taken from Lost Izalith. He wasn't sure how useful they'd be against the creatures that lurked here, but he knew fire tended to help. He had come across strange things in his lifetime, but nothing quite like this. Undead whose entire upper bodies had become nothing but a massive beating heart. Harpy-like demons descending from the rooftops to try and battle intruders. Truth be told, when he found the Bonewheels in the sewers below, rolling like hamsters in a treadmill over everything that crossed their paths, he was actually pleased. At least he knew how to fight those things.

He was walking down a large twirling spiral staircase towards the pathway that hopefully lead him to Priscilla. His mood had taken a turn for the worse and his voice was bitter and cold.

"Blasted gods and their bloody obsession with the obscure. Of all the lousy-" He stopped muttering to himself when he heard the familiar cry of a harpy. He turned around on a dime and saw the approaching beast, floating gracelessly towards him in an angry flutter of squawking and screeching.

"For the love of god!" He cried, more annoyed then angry. He drew his dagger and slashed the beast as it tried to pass. It caught fire, burning brightly against the stone covered landscape. It crashed to the floor, a smoking mess of blood and feathers, and finally died. He took a few deep breathes before he progressed any further.

The air in here is so thin. He muttered. "For once I actually miss the smog that was Lordran's air. Even if it did taste like a rotting corpse." His mutterings continued along those lines for awhile. He had come here with a clear purpose, though he started to wonder if that had been wise. He hated this place, he simply hated it. He grew to hate it even more when he stepped onto the now open bridge and found a lone gold-robed figure standing in his way. He had a notched whip and wore the gold robes of the Xanthous armor, complete with bulging crown that always made the hooded man slightly unnerved. It was just extremely strange and a bit creepy whenever he saw it.

The figure, King Jeremiah, stood his ground against the hooded man. "You trespass on hallowed ground." He claimed. "Turn back or feel the sting of my whip."

The hooded man frowned beneath his cloak. "I don't have time for this blathering." He declared, then took off like a rocket down the bridge. Dagger in hands, he narrowly dodged an attack by Jeremiah's whip, before appearing behind him and driving the dagger through his undead heart. King Jeremiah coughed up a small amount of blood before the hooded figure grabbed him by the crown and pushed him off the bridge to the foggy depths below.

He stared for a moment a the bulb shaped breach his fall had made in the fog, then turned back around and continued progressing towards Priscilla's broken tower. When he came to the white fog gate that separated her from the rest of the Painted World, he took one last deep breath and abandoned all thoughts of frustration, confusion, and anger so that Priscilla would know his mind was clear. Then he crossed the threshold, ready to face the Lifehunter.

He had heard many stories of Priscilla the Crossbreed, some being less then kind. When the hooded man's eyes fell upon her, he found that the stories were all false. She was absolutely beautiful. Her white fur formed a sort of dress that stretched from her chest to her feet. She was a giant like her mother, Gwynevere, but also had the distinct features of her dragon father, Seeth the Scaleless. Atop her head were four small scales, surrounded by haunting snow white hair, which stretched to her shoulders. Her white gown of fur did little conceal to a small white furry tail stretching from her lower back to the floor. It did not take away from her beauty, however. If anything, it enhanced it by giving her a sense of mystery and mysticism to her stunning body.

You would know better then to speak profanely, impolitely, or flirtatiously to her. For in her hands was the legendary Lifehunt Scythe, said to have cut down all intruders who tried to infest the world of Ariamis. Today, however, it would not taste blood.

"You there." She said, gazing downwards at Solaire. "I am Priscilla, guardian of this world. Are you the one who has caused so much chaos in my home?"

The hooded figure kneeled. "I apologize for my intrusion, my lady, but your guards were less then welcoming."

She looked at the kneeling figure quizzically. "I know that destruction was not your intent. You and the one who came before you seek other things. The one who came before you sought an escape. You seek knowledge, knowledge to aid you in your agenda." Her statement was true, but the hooded figure could tell she was moving towards a devastating point. One that could render his cause meaningless. "I can grant you such knowledge. However, it is what you intend to do with that knowledge that concerns me." She declared. "You seek to change the natural course of the world, much like my grandfather once did. Is that correct?" She pried, already knowing the answer.

The hooded figure stood up. "Yes." He said solemnly. "My world is dying. I am trying to save it." He dropped his hood, revealing the face of a man who had seen conflict, a man who had seen tragedy, and a man who bore the scars of betrayal.

"I am Solaire of Astora, Warrior of Sunlight and acolyte of Lord Gwyn. I require your assistance, Lifehunter, because you are the only one left who can help me." His voice was sturdy, his tone firm, and his words held an edge so sharp it could cut the air to shreds. She gazed at Solaire's exposed face for a few moments. He was young, rough, his eyes bloodshot, with a scar running down to his chin from his dirty blonde hair.

"I do not see what you can expect to accomplish. Even if you succeed, you cannot stop the course of nature. The flames will fade, the Dark will rise. It is the way of the world, as it always has been."

"Maybe so, but if I can prolong the Age of Dark, even for only a day, I'll know I've done my duty." He said, his earlier sharpness turning to desperation as he realized that Priscilla was not convinced by determination alone.

Her eyes reflected that notion as she turned away from the knight. "I cannot help you, Solaire of Astora. She said solemnly. If your world is destined to die, so be it. It is not my place to intervene."

Desperation turned to anguish as Solaire continued to plead. "Please, your grandfather gave his life to preserve the sun's warmth. Allow me to do the same, I beg of you! Help me!" He cried. She turned back to look at him once more. There was something about him that stirred Priscilla in a way she hadn't quite felt before. She didn't quite understand what the feeling was at first, then she realized it was the same feeling that others had cast upon her for so many years: Pity. She looked at Solaire, who now had tears rolling down his face as he begged for her assistance, and made up her mind.

"Wipe away your tears." She demanded. "That is not how a Warrior of Sunlight should act." Solaire used part of his hooded cloak to wipe his face, then looked back at Priscilla. That's better. She said, with an almost motherly affection now rushing through her normally timid voice. "If you are determined to save your world, I will not try to dissuade you. Tell me, Warrior of Sunlight, what knowledge is it you desire?"

Solaire looked up at Priscilla, determination and satisfaction returning to his face. He spoke clearly and he spoke with passion. He knew exactly what he needed.

"I want to know how to kill the Dark Lord."


	2. Puzzles

Wow. I was honestly surprised by the positive response I got. Thank you. I believe that's plenty encouragement for this story to continue. I hope I can live up to expectations from here on out.

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Alone in the Blight: Yes, I'm aware of that. The lack of absolute timelines is difficult, but I'll manage. I figured with the idea in Dark Souls that time and space is constantly fluctuating, only certain events are actually set in stone. Which is why this is set in the Fall of the Age of Fire and the Rise of the Age of Dark. As for their being too many characters... Can you be more specific about that problem?

B: Thanks. I will.

Guest: I will try my best.

Jamin1227: Um... I think I get the idea of this message. Did you write this with auto-correct on because it was kind of hard to read. Eh, no big deal. You'll see what the Chosen Undead (Typhon) has become in this chapter, and get a more clear idea later.

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Chapter 2

Puzzles

Anor Londo - _Centuries Ago_

"Why didn't you include me in your little crusade?" Asked Smough the Executioner. Ornstein had made it a point to keep an eye on his friend, so when he vanished on a mysterious mission, Smough took notice.

"Blame Gwyn for that. He had us all swear to secrecy." Replied Ornstein, who was sharpening his Dragonslayer Spear.

"But I'm the executioner! It's my job to execute people!" Claimed Smough, surprisingly defensive. "Besides, I could have gone for a midday snack."

Ornstein looked up for a moment from his spear. "Trust me my friend, this one would have given you indigestion." He gazed back down at the whetstone he was grinding his spear on.

"Hmph!" Went Smough as he crashed to the seat next to Ornstein. "Even so, a simple taste is all I ask." He was clearly frustrated about this, but Ornstein simply ignored him and kept looking at his spear as it sparked with the usual effect. Eventually he spoke up again.

"Don't worry. They'll be plenty of criminals to try and execute in the days ahead. You'll have a feast when this is all done." Claimed the Dragonslayer.

"What makes you say that?"

Ornstein grinned and looked up at Smough. "From what I hear, Artorias let it slip in Oolacile that the Furtive Pygmy had been killed. He even went so far as to name Lord Gwyn!" Exclaimed Ornstein excitedly. "Since then, there's been unrest in Oolacile, the Burg, the Parish, even inside the city itself. Chances are we'll have a riot sooner or later, one that we'll naturally be called in to quell, and then the ringleaders..."

"We'll make a nice little meal for me." Finished Smough, flashing a brief smile. "Clever idea, Ornstein, but what makes you think this will lead to a riot?"

Ornstein finished sharpening his spear and held it aloft. He gazed down the shaft and admired his craftsmanship before answering Smough's question.

"Because from what I've heard, Lord Gwyn has summoned the other two primeval lords and Seeth the Scaleless to the city to determine what should be done about the Dark Soul now that we know what it became. If that knowledge were to say... leak, their would be outrage and panic all over Anor Londo."

Smough raised an eyebrow and smiled. "That's very mischievous of you Ornstein." Said the executioner. "Not something I'd expect from one of the Four Knights."

Ornstein narrowed his eyes. "A little dissent is good for balance in this city. Besides, it might just give me an excuse to slip away from all this and go seek an actual challenge."

"Kalameet?" Asked Smough.

"The one and only." Ornstein's voice lowered dangerously and his ambitions began to surface. "The last of the Everlasting Dragons, mine for the taking. That fool Gough can try, but in the end it will be me who takes that bat out of the skies for good." Smough, who had heard this one too many times before, grunted. Something Ornstein didn't take well. "What was that for?"

"Huh? Oh it's nothing, I'm just thinking about how Gwyn said I'm too sadistic for the knights. Too menacing. Yet somehow YOU made the cut. Just a little confusing is all." Replied the Executioner, surprisingly honest.

Ornstein scowled. "First lesson in nobility old friend: mask your true nature. Master that and you're in the clear." Replied the Dragonslayer. He stopped speaking after that when the door swung open and Lord's Blade Ciaran entered. Ornstein and Smough looked suspicously at her, wondering why she would come all the way down here. She detested Smough and only came near him when no other choices existed, in the case of an emergency, or both. This was shaping up to be one of the cases of both.

"Ornstein, you're needed." She said.

"What for?" He asked in response.

"There's been an incident. Lord Gwyn has ordered us to investigate."

"Incident?" Ornstein pondered this for a moment. If it was a riot, she'd have said intervene rather then investigate, so that piqued the interest of the Dragonslayer.

"I don't know the details. Artorias is already there with Sif. Gough is on his way to meet him there. Let's go." She commanded.

Ornstein looked at Smough, who gave a nod, and then stood up. He took hold of his spear and followed Ciaran out the door.

"Goodbye." Called Smough, trying to get her attention for just a moment, but he was left disappointed. He looked down at his hammer, wondering when he would next be able to give it a proper swing, complete with the crunch of bone and splash of blood and flesh below it's mighty base.

As it turned out, he wouldn't have to wait very long.

* * *

Artorias and Sif stood bewildered in the middle of the Burg, the most prominent human settlement for several miles save for Oolacile below. He didn't expect much to go on here, yet here he stood, towering over the people around him and looking down at a body that had once belonged to a man of similar status and ability.

Sif whimpered quietly as he nudged his snout at the body to get it to move, but the wolf was met with only disappointment and sadness. Artorias petted his loyal companion and looked down at the body once more. Whoever killed them knew exactly what they were doing. There were tell-tale signs of an Occult Weapon being used in the process, as well as other signs indicating that they weren't looking to even risk the possibility of survival. The killer had cut off the hands and feet of his victim, both while he was still alive, and they had also slit his throat with what was probably a halberd or a greatsword, two major weapons that could do so quickly. After all, the victim was a giant, but he was also more then that.

Ornstein and Ciaran came rushing up behind the crowd of people and rested there feet at Artorias's side.

"All right, we're here." Ornstein said, unable to see past what Artroias to see what he was kneeling over. "What was the big problem that you had to call us all the way out-" He stopped when Artorias turned to look at him. The darkness in his eyes was something that struck fear into Ornstein, a feeling he rarely ever felt. When Artorias knew he had Ornstein's attention and cooperation, he stood up and revealed the body. Ornstein froze in shock, while Ciaran quietly prayed to herself.

"By the sun..." Mumbled Ornstein feverishly. "Is that-"

Artorias nodded. "Allfather Lloyd, Founder of the Church, and uncle of Lord Gwyn."

"But how?" Asked Ornstein, who couldn't wrap his head around the situation.

Artorias shrugged. "I have no idea." They were right to be confounded by this. Allfather Lloyd was supposedly one of the most powerful individuals in the world, the patron saint of the church and the uncle of the Lord of Sunlight. Gwyn owed much of his own combat training to Lloyd, yet here the old man lay, his body desecrated and his life stolen from him by an unknown assailant.

"Who could have done something like this?" Ornstein asked.

"I don't know who did it, but I know that they were prepared. He pointed out his earlier observation to Ornstein. They were planning this. Plus, Allfather Lloyd would have to have left the Parish to come here, which he would only do on invitation. So whoever did this..."

"He knew his killer." Ornstein declared. He had jumped ahead to the conclusion Artorias was going to make.

"Yes..." Said a slightly annoyed Artorias. "The question is: Who?"

As they speculated and assembled evidence, Ciaran and Sif were busy inspecting the body. A shadow had crossed over the corpse, which Ciaran was able to attribute to the appearance of Hawkeye Gough on a nearby rooftop, who seemed to be scouting the area for any sign of where the killer went. They moved way Lloyd's long locks of silver hair from his face and made a discovery.

"Artorias." She called.

"Yes?" He replied.

"Did you notice that his eyes of been gouged out?" She said, as casually as she would have informed him that there was a piece of meat stuck between his teeth.

"I did, yes." Artorias replied. "What of it?"

"Why do you suppose they did that?" Ciaran asked.

Again, the response was a shrug. "Probably to take a trophy? Eyeballs are easy enough to fit in jars and you don't have to be a sorcerer to keep them preserved." Ornstein concurred with that analysis by showing a short nod.

Ciaran rolled her eyes. There had to be more significance then that. She knew the Gravelord Servants used the Eyes of Death to spread Nito's miasma, but Nito was a friend of the gods, not to mention that if a Gravelord Servant or the Gravelord himself were to emerge from the Tomb of the Giants and venture this close to Anor Londo, everyone from Lordran to Catarina would know about it.

With that thought cast aside, her eyes slowly moved downwards on the body, and then she saw something else. Something familiar. She grabbed it from Allfather Lloyd's belt and tore it loose. She held it in her hands, staring at it for a moment, the familiar rigid carapace and yellow glow making comforting her as she felt her instincts kick in. The Black Eye Orb pulsated for a moment and knowing she may miss her chance if she wasn't careful, she triggered the orb. Before Artorias or Ornstein could stop her, she was already transported away.

When her vision returned and her Spirit of Vengeance arrived in it's location, she found she was no longer in the Burg, but in Ash Lake, among members of the Path of the Dragon, who looked at her with fear, anger, and reprehension. Before they could do anything, though, she flickered out of the lake and found herself in Izalith, in the laboratory of the Witch. She saw notes and inscriptions that made very little sense to her, save for some notes on the study of Chaos Magic and a rough sketch of an equation next to a picture of the Kiln of the First Flame. She flickered out once again. This time, she was in New Londo, where the Four Kings stood running combat drills with their elite soldiers. Only they were not alone as multiple Six-Eyed Channelers, representatives of Seeth the Scaleless, stood with their own Crystal Knights, speaking with the Four Kings about some kind of deal. One of the kings spotted her, but could do nothing before she was on the move once again. She flickered one last time and finally found herself on familiar ground.

She was back in the Burg, near the Sunlight Altar but things had changed. Quite a lot from the look of things. The Buildings were decrepit, the stone walls had crumbled, the watchtowers had fallen to disrepair, and corpses littered the bridge. At the other end of the bridge, she could see a man with a sword and shield, dashing back and forward as he fought a creature just out of sight. She stepped outside onto the balcony to get a better look once she realized that she wasn't flickering anymore. There, she caught a glimpse of a great red drake, which breathed fire upon the bridge as the warrior, who she now could see was a Warrior of Sunlight, tossed the Sunlight Spears of Lord Gwyn at the monster.

She wanted to help him, but she could not interfere. Her body had no physical presence on the monsters here, nor would it be able to even touch the knight. She could tell he was not the killer of Allfather Lloyd, frankly she wasn't sure anything she had seen had anything to do with Lloyd's murder. Still she watched the knight fight, but she found it odd. The whole time the warrior was only aiming for the creatures tail for some strange reason. Before she could tell what the aim behind this was, the Black Eye Orb began to return her to her world and her time. As she left, the Warrior of Sunlight caught a brief glimpse of her, distracting him for a moment. He barely had time to react when the drake came in for another attack. She watched him nimbly dodge into the levels below the bridge before suddenly finding herself lying on the floor, her eyes fluttering open to find Artorias and Ornstein standing over her.

"What the hell was that?!" Yelled Ornstein. "Next time warn us before you do that!"

"I'm sorry." Replied a drowsy Ciaran, her helmet missing.

"What happened? Did you find the one who killed Lloyd?"

She sat upwards and looked around at her friends and the Great Grey Wolf Sif, who gave her a wet sloppy lick on the cheek to show his affection for her. Artorias gave her back her helmet. "No... But I think I found a few leads."

* * *

Sunlight Altar - Present Day

A rickety staircase and a stone wall were all that cushioned the blow for Knight Solaire as he dodged a burst of fire from the Hellkite Drake. The appearance of what he thought was a spirit of vengeance had taken him off guard, giving the drake time to attack. Now he simply took a swig from an Estus Flask as he prepared to go back up.

From the outset the task seemed simple: Go to Sunlight Altar, cut off the Hellkite Drake's tail, and fashion it into a sword. Dragon Weapons were helpful against the likes of the Dark Lord after all. Yet the drake had never been an easy target and with the ascent of the Dark, it was having trouble finding suitable food sources. So Solaire's return made it very enthusiastic and even more deadly. The Sunlight Spear had done their share of damage, as Gwyn had done to the Everlasting Dragons centuries ago, but now he need to get closer to the weakened drake to cut off it's actual tail.

"Hmm..." He muttered. "Maybe... Just maybe..." He formulated a plan and proceeded to rush back up the rickety staircase. Rather then go on the offensive, he chose to be defensive. The Drake found it's food source missing, so it encircled the skies searching for it. Eventually it came to land on the bridge and crawl towards Solaire was hiding. He took a deep breath as it neared, then took a running dash out from cover and charged the Drake. By the time it realized he was there, it's tail was already disappearing in a spray of blood, and Solaire was rushing towards Sunlight Altar with the sword he needed in hand.

The Hellkite Drake made a ferocious roar. It charged after him as he sought shelter in the altar's enclosure. He lit the bonfire inside just to make sure he would have a fallback plan if his current one failed. He raised his hand and prepped a Sunlight Spear, starring down the approaching drake. Suddenly, it took to the skies, as if the lit bonfire made it fearful. Solaire was not about to allow it to escape, so he chased after it as quickly as he could, the Sunlight Spear burning brighter then ever in his hand. With one final toss, he struck the drake's wings mid-air and shot it down. All it could do was screech as it came crashing down to the ground and died on impact.

He felt the familiar sensation of souls rushing to his body and drank it in. It was a long time since that had happened. With a few of those souls he crafted a Sunlight Medal, a keepsake. One that kept his vision focused and kept his dream alive. His dream of the sun burning in the sky and turning away the Dark. He put it in his bottomless box with a few hundred others. He had done this for a long time and he wasn't going to stop now, even if it was just a force of habit. With that, he then proceeded to look down at the Drake Sword in his hands. It was rough and rigid like the drake, but it was a weapon, not a creature. A weapon that would help him against the Dark Lord. He put the sword in the Bottomless Box as well, just to make sure he didn't lose it.

He turned and looked at the statue within Sunlight Altar. Something about it always captivated his attention. It was a statue of a woman, holding a small child maybe a few months old, with the child clutching onto a Sunlight Straight Sword. Something about it always puzzled him. Was it supposed to be the mother protecting her child or was it the child defending his mother? Who was to say.

"Striking resemblance, wouldn't you say?" Came a voice from behind. Solaire froze and slowly turned around, finding himself eye to eye with a ghost from the past. Dark Lord Typhon. It had been five years since they last looked face to face, but other then a short increase in age on his face, he was exactly the same. He still wore the Wanderer Gear he had worn when this all began, except now it sported a necklace of crow feathers and reinforced sheets of titanite metal all across the body. There was a Ring of Favor and Protection on his right hand, the Ring of the Evil Eye on his left where dark magic radiated from his palm. In his right hand, the Chaos Blade was grasped firmly in hand. His eyes were cold, the purple irises lighting the darkness of his hood, with razor-sharp vision locked on Solaire.

Solaire barely held his rage back and spoke slowly to answer the Dark Lord. "Resemblance?" He asked, casually raising his sword and grasping both hands around it.

"The sword in the statue." Typhon replied. "It looks a lot like yours. What are the odds?"

"It's a Sunlight Straight sword. The standard weapon of a Warrior of Sunlight." Solaire defended. "It's sheer coincidence."

"Perhaps, but let me ask you this: Who do you think that it is in that statue? Because it's certainly not any ordinary woman and that's not an ordinary child." He started walking closer, putting Solaire on edge, but Typhon simply stood next to him looking up at the statue. He seemed focused on it, but then briefly turned to look at Solaire. "Lower your sword. It won't do you any good and you know it."

Solaire briefly tried to be defiant, but he had to concede that his sword would probably be less the useless if he had to fight Typhon. He sheathed the blade and looked up at the statue as well. It was outstanding well crafted, beautifully designed, probably by one of the finest architects in Lordran. What do you want Typhon. Solaire asked, only to be ignored.

"Have you ever heard the story of the Firstborn?" Asked Typhon, still looking at the statue. "Gwyn's first son? It's a fine tale."

"Everyone has heard it. Solaire replied. "It's not a fine tale, it's a folk tale."

"Except it's not." Typhon turned to look at Solaire. "The proof is right outside that door." He pointed at the destroyed Sunlight Warrior Statue on the balcony, then turned back to the statue. "He destroyed the historical records of Anor Londo in defiance of Gwyn. To punish him, Gwyn rendered him a mere mortal, and struck any evidence of him from existence, statues included. Heh. Guess they missed one."

"You honestly believe that child is the firstborn?" Solaire asked, still on edge, but doing his best to hide it.

"No. I don't believe, I know. That woman was Gwyn's wife, that child is his son. The Firstborn, the Old God of War, Grandmaster of the Warriors of Sunlight." Typhon paused for a moment as he kept gazing at the statue. Then he asked a question to Solaire that surprised him and angered him. "What was your mother like Solaire?"

"What?" He replied.

"What was she like? Was she kind? Cruel? Perhaps she was a barmaiden or perhaps she was a cleric? Solaire did not answer. What about your father? What was he like?"

"What is this about Typhon?" He asked.

"I simply want an answer to a question of mine. Then I'll leave you alone and let you get on with your little insurrection."

"How..."

"The Dark is everywhere, Solaire. It's easy enough to hear what goes on in it. Now answer my questions."

Solaire realized there was no getting around it, so he simply was honest. "My mother... My mother was kind. Gentle. She was a healer, a disciple of the Way of White who broke away to help the Undead affliction rather then serve the ambitions left behind by Allfather Lloyd... Her whole life she told me that when I was alone or frightened to simply pray to the sun. She told me Lord Gwyn was always looking over me, even when it seemed like things were hopeless."

"Interesting. Declared Typhon. What of your father?

"There isn't anything to say." He abandoned us when I was less then a month old. "I don't even remember his face, nor his name. If I ever see him again, I... I don't know." Solaire clenched his fists, his anger was sheer and blunt, like the impact of finely crafted club. "Is that enough for you?"

"Yes, I think it is." Typhon replied, a small grin spreading across his face. "Actually one last thing: The Sunlight Straight Sword, where did it come from?"

Solaire looked at him, looked at the sword, then the statue, and back to Typhon. There was a long pause, then he finally responded.

"It's mine. I received it when I joined the Warriors of Sunlight."

The grin across Typhon's face suddenly vanished and was replaced by a frown of disappointment. "I see." He looked around the altar. "Perhaps I was wrong... No matter." He started to walk away, then stopped. Solaire didn't pay attention to him, he just looked at the altar, staring at the statue with a melancholy stare and a deep rooted feeling of regret forming a lump in his stomach. Then something landed by his feet and Typhon continued on his way, eventually disappearing in a small plume of cinders. Solaire looked down. Next to his left boot was a dead insect, presumably one from Lost Izalith, except this one was shaped strangely like the sun. He remembered hearing about this creature from Big Hat Logan when he visited Firelink Shrine. The Sunlight Maggot, he called it, a mocking symbol created by the Bed of Chaos to intimidate Lord Gwyn and any other knights that were sent against it. It was said to lure people into surrendering there souls and humanity to feed the Bed of Chaos in exchange for access to their greatest desire. Apparently, Typhon had killed it, because unlike all those who came before him, the Sunlight Maggot had nothing to offer him as his only desire at the time was to kill the very thing the insect fed: The Bed of Chaos.

Solaire stared at it. He was somewhat relieved to find out that Typhon killed it. He probably couldn't have resisted it had he encountered the creature. At the same time, however, now that it was dead and unable to do any harm, he found himself strangely drawn to it. His helmet was battered and bent, it wasn't going to last much longer. The same could be said of his armor. With all the titanite in the land be hoarded by Typhon, he couldn't find the materials necessary to repair it. This, however, would make a suitable replacement for his helmet at the least.

He thought about it for a moment. Perhaps Typhon had left it at his feet as a sort of mockery, but he would turn it into a source of strength. A symbol for those who followed him and for himself. He would make it mark the coming of a Second Age of Fire, one that would burn brighter then the first, and he would do Lord Gwyn justice. He tossed his helmet aside and donned the Sunlight Maggot, a small orb of light forming above his head as he did. He hardened his resolve, steeled his nerves, and set off. He knew that a revolution couldn't be lead alone, he would need help, and a lot of it.

Then again, maybe all he needed were a few good men and women, willing to fight and die to stop Typhon.

He thought about that notion. The fight and die mentality, then quietly chuckled to himself.

"A tad antiquated now, I suppose. Ha!"


	3. The Cat and the Crow

Okay, here's the third chapter. Incidentally, if you ever don't save Solaire in Dark Souls, and are forced to fight him in the tunnel leaving Lost Izailth, stop and find Johnny Cash's Hurt and play it in the background as you fight him. I tried this and tears rolled down my eyes.

You know what? Play Johnny Cash's Hurt at any point in Dark Souls and you will probably suddenly feel extremely sad. It's that kind of thing.

* * *

Leider Hosen: That comes with writing much longer chapters. I apologize, but it can be difficult editing these things at times.

Alone in the Blight: Yeah, that's an issue I have. It's in all I write. I'll will try and fix it, but I can't make a guarantee I'll succeed.

* * *

Chapter 3

The Cat and the Crow

Darkroot Garden - Present Day

Fireflies danced around the tress of Darkroot Garden as Solaire entered the notorious forests below the Undead Parish. The Sunlight Maggot guided his eyes and illuminated the shadows around him, but that did not put him at ease. For what lurked in those shadows were best left alone, unless of course those who stireed them had a deathwish.

Priscilla and he agreed they needed allies, but they disagreed who'd they need. Priscilla argued that the Path of the Dragon, a cult that lived in Ash Lake, were an indispensable asset, where as Solaire had argued that the Forest Hunters were a far more useful and practical group. Honestly, in any other circumstance, these would be the last people they would go to. However with the Darkwraiths on the prowl the Blades of the Darkmoon and Princess Guard had been all but destroyed and the Warriors of Sunlight were scattered to the winds. These were the only groups still in Lordran that were left to fight back. Priscilla had made her first journey in a century, leaving the Painted World to speak with the Stone Dragon at Ash Lake, deciding it was a worthy enough cause to warrant such a venture.

Solaire was on guard as he passed through the gate to Forest Hunter Territory. Almost right away, arrows and throwing knives flew towards him, followed swiftly by a Great Soul Arrow. Solaire dodged and drew his shield, but was unable to block the full impact of the Great Soul Arrow. It hit like a small cannon blast, hurtling him into a nearby tree. He struggled to get to his feet when he heard a rustling in a nearby bush. He swiftly rolled out of the way as a large dagger stabbed through the ground. A silent assassin stood not five feet away from him. Ready for battle.

"You should not be here..." He whispered. He charged at the Warrior of Sunlight, but found himself outmatched very quickly when a Great Lightning Spear was cast from Solaire's hand and into the assassin's shoulder. He cried out for help, but before he could yell too loudly, Solaire raced forward with his shield and brought it down on the Assassin's head, bashing in his skull with ferocity. The effect was something like if a paintball exploded against a brick wall, give or take the excessive gore that came out of the effect. Shards of bone were left lodged in Solaire's shield and the assassin's robes turned red with the blood spluttering out of what had once been his neck.

Solaire turned around to make sure no other Forest Hunters were headed his way. Much to his relief, their weren't. The Forest Hunters being undead, however, presented a slight problem. Soon enough, this poor sap would relocate himself to the nearest bonfire and rush off to warn the others. If he couldn't get to Alvina first, the Forest Hunters might just find their newest prey in him.

"Move it." He muttered to himself, before sprinting off. The Sunlight Maggot, admittedly, was a shining beacon to the enemies around him. However, they would most likely believe it to just be one of the native insects, glowing in the distance. That was the beauty of the Darkroot Forest, it was filled with nothing but lightning bugs and campfires.

Soon enough, he saw where he had to go, but found one final obstacle obscuring his path: Three warriors. One he recognized as a Bandit who served the Forest Hunters and was Alvina's personal bodyguard, but the other two he did not recognize at all. One had a long curved blade slung over his shoulder while wearing the armor of someone who looked like he had traveled from a far off land. The one next to him seemed to be something like the assassin he had dealt with earlier, but more lightly dressed and equipped with shadow garbs rather then Black Leather. He seemed to be on the side of the taller warrior, perhaps as a servant or bodyguard. Then Solaire recognized where he had seen people like them before: They were travelers from the Far East.

Before he could throw much more thought into that, a Forest Hunter from the woods behind him screamed at the top of his lungs.

"He's here!" He yelled.

Solaire quickly threw a Great Lightning Spear at the hunter and killed him almost instantly, having been aiming for the head rather then the shoulder.

"Damn it." He muttered. With no reason to be subtle anymore, he took off towards Alvina's structure. The Sunlight Maggot's light spread further and further as he approached, going so far as to blind the tall eastern warrior for a moment. Solaire drew his sword and quickly took a slash at the Bandit, decapitating the undead, and rolled to the side to avoid a swing of a katana from the bodyguard. The other eastern warrior, regaining his sight, locked blades with Solaire.

"You are not of this forest." He declared.

"Neither are you." Replied Solaire. He broke off the lock and took a swing at the warrior, who dodged back. For his heavy armor, he was surprisingly agile. The guard attempted to get involved again, but he was forced off by the tall warrior.

"No!" He cried. "This kill is mine!" The other Forest Hunters, who were now arriving at the structure, quickly stood down upon seeing the tall warrior fighting Solaire. Something about him caused them to back away, possibly out of respect or possibly out of fear. Either way it was down to just him and Solaire, whose experience as a Warrior of Sunlight made this battle an easy victory. Despite the trainings of the east wielded by this tough fighter, Solaire was able to gain the upper hand. His Sunlight Straight Sword was more then a match for the weapon the other warrior was using, the curved blade known as a Washing Pole. As the other warrior tried to reengage a sword lock, where the Washing Pole had an advantage, he didn't see Solaire's shield coming up from the side, and before he could do anything his head was suddenly alive with a cacophony of agony as he fell down. Solaire kicked the Washing Pole, which had fallen a few feet away, into the abyss next to them.

The warrior turned and looked at Solaire. He barely had the strength to spit in the direction of the Knight.

"Well?" He said in his strange eastern accent. "Finish it. You've won, take your kill."

Solaire was very tempted to finish him off at this point. The Forest Hunters were annoying to deal with whenever you were in Darkroot Forest, but he needed allies. This wasn't how you made them. He sheathed his sword and mounted his shield.

"No. I did not come here to hunt. I shall not take a life where it is not necessary." He said, honoring his code as a Warrior of Sunlight. The Bodyguard came over and helped his master to his feet.

"That is... Very honorable of you, I respect that." He said, nodding to Solaire as a gesture of his sincerity.

"Ho! That was a good show!" Came a laughing voice from inside the structure. "I don't think I've been that entertained since the last visitor. Do come in, stranger. I'd like to speak to you."

Solaire did so. The voice, as he had guessed, belonged to Alvina. She was a small and slightly overweight cat that commanded the Forest Hunters. Her appearance, believed by some to be silly, was simply a façade however. Beneath her fur lay everlasting wisdom and power, with the ferocity to boot.

"Alvina." Solaire said, bowing in respect. "I am Knight Solaire of Astora, Warrior of Sunlight."

"Oh please." She replied. "No need to be so formal. Besides, I know who you are. Almost everyone in Lordran does. Your quite a hero to the undead, it seems."

Solaire was surprised by this, but surprise quickly faded as he remembered why that would be. Typhon, no doubt, spread word of Solaire's help in his quest to become Dark Lord. Like the Sunlight Maggot, this wasn't meant as a compliment, but as a mockery. Had Solaire simply stayed out of Typhon's world, he may not have succeeded. He might have died fight the Bellfrey Gargoyles or against Smough and Ornstein in Anor Londo or perhaps even incinerated by the Centipede Demon of Lost Izalith. Either way, nothing could be done about it now.

"Do tell me Solaire, why have you come here? You made quite the show on the way into Darkroot Forest. Not many would dare to so much as put a shivering footstep in my forest, let alone charge in with a target hovering a few inches over their head."

Solaire let her comment about the Sunlight Maggot pass and proceeded to plead his case. "I need your assistance, Alvina." Solaire declared.

"My assistance?"

"Yes." Solaire took a deep breath. "Myself and Crossbreed Priscilla are preparing to challenge the Dark Lord. We plan to reignite the Age of Fire and we need support."

Suddenly, Alvina's face dropped into a sulking frown, and she seemed sad. "Yes... I worried that was why you came here." She said. "I've felt the sting of the Dark before. Years ago, when this forest was still the Royal Wood and Darkroot Garden was the town of Oolacile. I lost everything."

Solaire's hopes for an alliance suddenly shot up a few extra notches upon hearing that. "Then you understand the threat poised by the Dark. You know what kind of chaos it can bring!"

"Indeed. I have seen it firsthand." She replied, still grim and sorrowful.

"Then you must understand the importance of stopping it!" Solaire cried.

"I do." She started. Solaire's hopes were high, but her next comment would break them down to nothing. "But I also know what will happen if we fail. I will not endure that again. I'm sorry, Solaire of Astora, but I shall not involve my hunters in this."

Solaire's hopes were shattered by that statement. His disappointment turned to frustration, then his frustration turned to rage.

"You can't be serious!" He cried. "The Dark will come for you eventually! It will swallow your forest and your hunters unless we turn it back."

"It may take this forest, but it shall not take my hunters. We'll move on. Find another forest in another land and continue on there."

"And what happens when the Dark comes for that land?" Solaire asked furiously. "It won't stop with Lordran. It will engulf the world, consuming everything in it's path. If we don't end it's spread here, no one else will ever get the chance to try."

"I'm sorry. We will not become involved in this struggle." She declared. "That is my final opinion on the matter. Unless you have some other business with us, be gone with you. You are no longer a welcome visitor."

"But-" He tried, but was cut off by a shriek as though someone had just stepped on Alvina's tail. It was her way of saying this conversation was over. Solaire, finally giving up, walked out of the structure, uttering one final call to Alvina.

"You've doomed yourselves." He said, before leaving towards the exit of Darkroot Forest. He'd have to simply hope that Priscilla successfully convinced the Path of the Dragon to join their cause, otherwise the revolt was as good as dead. Then, as he slowly wandered out of the forest, someone called to him.

"Excuse me!" Solaire turned around to see the Eastern Warriors from earlier wandering towards him. "I apologize for our earlier skirmish traveler. I did not realize you had business with the cat." He said. Probably only half of what he said was sincere, while his bodyguard remained silent all together.

"It's fine." He said. "I've become used to things like that."

"I did not catch your name, traveler." He stated.

"I never gave it." Solaire replied.

"Ah, well let's fix that shall we? I am Shiva of the East." He extended his hand for a handshake, one Solaire reluctantly accepted.

"I'm Solaire of Astora." He replied.

"Ah I've heard of you." He replied. "You're a good man, an honorable one as well I see."

"Thank you, but I really must be going. I have things to attend to." He said and started to walk away.

"Oh? And what would that be? Trying to overthrow Typhon?" He called.

Solaire stopped. Slowly he turned around and looked at Shiva. "What?"

Don't think I am stupid. Only someone truly desperate would desire the support of the Forest Hunters and with the Bells of Awakening rung... Well, I don't see what else you could want." Solaire continued to look at Shiva quizzically, questioning his motives in this.

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that I can grant you the support of the Forest Hunters. I am a Clan Leader, meaning I can challenge Alvina's orders. The Forest Hunters have also grown to respect me more then that cat, making the transition of power all the more easy. All of that for a simple bargain."

"A bargain?" Solaire asked, cautious of Shiva.

"The Dark Lord is in possession of something I desire. A legendary sword of unspeakable power forged by the sword master Makoto. It is called the-"

"Chaos Blade, I know." Solaire's words were raspy and carried with them a sharp edge. "I've heard the legends. It was said to create wounds that would bleed forever, injuries that would never heal, among other things."

Shiva flashed a wicked smile. "Indeed. These stories are not just myth, they are fact. I desire this blade more then anything in the world. I was heartbroken when I found that after Makoto passed, the blade found it's way into the hands of the Witch of Izalith and then into the hands of her daughter, Chaos Witch Quelaag. You see I could not challenge her anymore then I could her mother. When I heard news that she had been slain, I ventured out to Blighttown to find the blade, only to discover nothing but an empty lair. I was foolish, I didn't realize that she had long since changed her weapon to the Furysword. Her sister, the Fair Lady, was dying and the Chaos Blade only served to further her pain, draining the humanity from Quelaag before she could give it to the Fair Lady. She shattered the blade, but the power of the Chaos Blade is not easily vanquished. It fused with Quelaag's very essence. Her very soul."

"And since then Typhon has reforged it. I know." Solaire finished. "I know all of this, Shiva, I'm not an idiot. My question was about this bargain."

"What about it?" Shiva asked.

"It's insane. Do you honestly want me to waltz into Firelink, take the god-forsaken blade from Typhon's cold clutches, and then walk back out like I own the damn thing?"

"Of course not! I'm not asking you to take the blade. I simply ask that when this is all said and done, when Typhon lies a broken body beneath your boots, that the blade be given to me. For... let's say safekeeping. Do we have a deal?" He held out his hand yet again, this time for conformation on their bargain.

Solaire, while knowing the danger of giving Shiva any power, let alone something as dangerous as the Chaos Blade, he also knew what would happen should he fail to stop Typhon. It was a calculated risk, he decided, and the defeat of Typhon would certainly far outweigh the danger Shiva posed wielding the Chaos Blade. Reluctantly, he outstretched his own arm, and shook the hand of the eastern warrior.

"Deal."

* * *

Firelink Shrine - Present Day

Atop a throne crafted from fallen flagstones covered with moss, Typhon sat drumming his fingers. His thoughts were no longer pressed on Solaire, but on other matters. Things he had to attend to if the Dark was to take Lordran. He currently awaited the arrival of a visitor from a distant land, one he had dispatched an entire battalion of Darkwraiths to find. He simply waited until she arrived, while the Darkwraiths he had sent out were being redeployed to battlefronts all over Lordran.

Firelink Shrine, despite the rise of the Age of Dark, hadn't really changed that much. Laurentius of the Great Swamp still practiced his pyromancies near the throne. Ingward the Healer often found himself speaking with Anacastia of Astora, while Trusty Patches and Domhall of Zena moved further into the Shrine, preferring the safety near the Dark Lord's throne. Kingseeker Frampt disappeared and in his place Darkstalker Kaathe sat, a bit too pleased with himself. He had played his cards right and ensured the rise of the Dark could be achieved, now he simply reaped the benefits of his actions. Besides them, however, there was one more new guest to the shrine.

"You!" *squawk* "Dark Lord! What's wrong?" Came a small, warm, and sweet voice from nearby. It was Snuggly the Crow, as Typhon had started calling her on account of her adorable voice, who landed on the arm rest of her throne. He had never seen her before, only traded objects of seemingly no value to her at the Undead Asylum to the north. Now she had move from the Asylum and come to rest at Firelink Shrine. She sat quietly on a small nest she had made for herself near the Firekeeper. She often flew up to the Dark Lord's throne to speak with Typhon, mostly because she considered him a friend. Her only friend.

"Nothing, Snuggly." He said, using his finger to pet the small bird on the head. He brushed a few of her feathers and she squawked appreciatively. "Nothing at all."

"Really?" *squawk* "You seem troubled." She purred slightly as he brushed up and down her back.

Typhon sighed. "Yes, I suppose I do, don't I?" He pulled a small piece of bread he found in Undead Burg out of his rough sack and began to sprinkle it onto the arm of the throne where Snuggly was sitting.

"Is it your friend again? The one whose name sounded warm and lovely?" She squawked at the thought, her little beak pecking at the bread crumbs.

"Solaire... Yes I guess so. Except, we're not friends. Not anymore at least." He explained to the crow, who looked at him quizzically.

"CAW!" She uttered suddenly. "Sorry, I do that when I'm excited." She claimed. Typhon just smiled. He loved this little crow and was glad to have her around. "I thought friendships were supposed to last a lifetime?"

"Who told you that?" Typhon asked.

"I think it was..." *squawk* "The Onion Man."

At first, Typhon was confused, then he was surprised. "Siegmeyer?"

"Yes that was his name!" *squawk* "He came to the Asylum once, a long time ago. I liked him. CAW!" She seemed a bit flushed for a moment, but before she could finish her sentence, she suddenly seemed fearful. "Oh no! She's coming!" Snuggly cried.

"What? Who?"

"I have to go. She'd be very angry to see me out of my nest." *squawk* She lifted off and flew back down to her nest, tucking herself between some branches and pine to hide.

Again, Typhon was confused, but then he remembered his guest was arriving, and now she was in sight. She was hooded and dressed in black, but there was no doubt in his mind who that was beneath the hood. He could make out her pale white skin, long black hair, and black lips. It was Velka, goddess of sin and mother of crows. She had been exiled from Lordran long ago, but now she had returned and she seemed to like what she saw.

Typhon's fingers, which had begun to drum again, stopped. Velka's presence was felt from over twenty feet away, like a creeping chill on the wind. You knew it was coming, but there was nothing you could do to prepare for it. The ground beneath her very feet turned black as the plants and tress around her turned to decay and died around her.

She approached the Dark Lord's throne with interest. Spotting Typhon on it, she smiled.

"Hello." She said, speaking with a cold yet soothing voice. "Am I to believe that you were the one who sent for me?" Her accent was distinct and strange. It shifted and changed with every word she spoke, making it extremely hard for those with less then a sharp perception to understand what she was saying. Luckily for Typhon, a sharp perception was one of his strengths.

"I was the one who sent for you, yes. I'm glad to see you came." He said. "I am Typhon, Chosen Undead, and Dark Lord of Lordran."

"I see that." She replied. "Those in other lands call you Usurper of the Cinders. Personally, I have to thank you for what you did to Gwyn. He deserved it more then most men." Typhon could tell there was more to that then she was saying, but chose to leave her personal matters to her. She spoke again "Tell me, why have you summoned me? What is it you want?"

"Look around you." He said simply. "Gaze over that horizon if you wish. See what's becoming of this once great world."

Velka did so. She gazed aimlessly over the clifface and found herself looking at nothing but destruction and chaos. The distant hills were covered in a crisp layer of ash, the tress below were heavily stained with the blood of the monsters in Blighttown, and above the walls of Anor Londo were crumbling as bricks and flagstones rolled down the mountain side to a growing Abyss below. This was the reality of the Age of Dark: a dying world without hope and without light.

"Hmm. What's the point to this? Are you truly surprised this was the result of what you did?" She asked.

"No." Typhon replied. "No, I expected this. The destruction can always be repaired. Myself and the undead literally have all the time in the world." He stood up from his throne and walked over to Velka. "No, what I need in this time is help. I admit that I can be reckless that is why I need someone like you. A advisor, so to speak, one who could assist me in fully realizing the Age of Dark. Someone who can't be seduced by the light of a dying flame." He explained. All the while he spoke, he encircled Velka, wandering around her pale body which hadn't aged a day since all those centuries ago when Gwyn shot the dragons out of the skies. She was beautiful, absolutely stunning, but view would ever say it. As he finished his speech, he placed his hands on her shoulder, and a shudder ran through her body. His hands were like cold steel; frigid but smooth. Dark Magic sparked from their palms, creating a faint but powerful presence. As was the Dark's nature, it would corrupt and consume whatever was in it's way. Velka was no exception.

"The flame and humanity are the same in only one way." He recited, remembering an old saying passed down through his own family. "They will fade, they will waiver, and they will die. When they do, the Dark is all that remains." He whispered those words into Velka's ear and she couldn't help but feel strangely pleased, much to her own terror. She could feel the Dark radiating off of Typhon like a disease, a cancer to which there was no cure.

"Why me?" She asked, trying to shake off the influence of the Dark. "I have my own domain. Why would you let me into yours?"

"Because the Dark invites sin. They are more closely tied together then you might think. In the Dark, no one is looking, and man does what it pleases. I know this, you know this, so why not encourage it?" He asked. Velka was having a hard time disagreeing. She had been betrayed by Gwyn, usurped by Gwyndolin, banished by Seeth, and stripped of everything save for her loyal pardoner. Now, here she was, with a chance to reign again as the one true goddess of sin. Yet, somehow, it felt wrong. She may have despised Gwyn for allowing what had happened to her to even transpire, but she didn't exactly feel comfortable trading one master for another, especially one like Typhon. His fragile mental state was all too obvious to her, but even so she was tempted to take up his offer.

"Make your decision Velka." He whispered yet again. "The Dark or Disparity. Your choice." Even after all these years, the words spoken by Gwyn when she was forced to flee from the keep in Anor Londo rang quietly through her mind. They seemed louder now, perhaps because of the Dark, but no matter how they were spoken, they were clear.

"You can run or you can die." That's what Gwyn had said. She chose to run, but now those days were finished. She knew her rightful place.

"I've known disparity all my life. I will not live with it another day." She said. She shook off the hands of the Dark Lord, turned around, and knelt before him. "I am at your command, my lord."

Typhon smiled. "You shall serve our cause well." He said, making his way back to his throne.

"What is it you wish of me?" She asked.

"First I want you to answer a question of mine. Then the real work can begin." He said, taking his throne once more. "What do you know of a man called Gwynlais?"


End file.
